


Collision Course (to an asteroid belt, no less)

by roseyprosey



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, star wars fusion and nerdy references ahead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 13:50:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseyprosey/pseuds/roseyprosey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His diplomatic training hadn't prepared him for this. (A Teen Wolf/Star Wars fusion fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collision Course (to an asteroid belt, no less)

**Author's Note:**

> um, hello. this is my first contribution to the teen wolf fandom, so please accept this humble offering. I've been inspired to write this fic for a really long time, but only just got around to it. unbetaed, so all mistakes are mine (and please point them out!). 
> 
> in terms of star wars canon, I'm really sorry George Lucas. ;_;
> 
> warnings subject to change.

The ship was on fire, and it wasn’t Stiles’ fault.

 

“Pour everything we have into our rear shields, we can’t take another hit like that,” said Prince Stiles, pacing frantically. A small repair droid bumped into his foot before scurrying off. “Is our main power reactor functional yet?” Another small earthquake rocked the ship, and Stiles could almost smell the hull’s metal burning.

 

“No, sir.” Stiles swore fluidly under his breath, propriety be damned. At this rate, it wasn’t going to be long before—

 

“Sir, they’ve locked us in a tractor beam! The pull’s too strong, even if we allocated power back to the main thrusters.” The young officer looked fearfully at the prince, whose face had turned as white as his ceremonial robes.

 

“Right. It’s not long now before we’re going to be boarded, and I’ve got a bad feeling on who might be visiting.” Stiles patted the pocket of his robes before clearing his throat. Of course they’d run into the Empire _now_ , of all times. “Smith! You have command of the ship.” A burly man standing next to a smoking navigation panel gave a crisp salute as Stiles began to walk out.

 

“Well, for the next few minutes, anyway,” Stiles muttered. As soon as the doors had gently _whooshed_ shut behind him, the prince began to run.

 

~:~:~

 

“Ah, Darth Hale. How kind of you to show your face on my ship—I mean, as much as you can show your face.” Stiles grinned up at the masked man, trying to ignore how hard his heart was pounding in his chest. He just needed to distract Hale long enough for the escape pod to get out of the Imperial tractor beam’s range, and onto its final destination. Stiles tried really hard not to think about the hundreds of ways that the droids on the pod could be destroyed.

 

“If it isn’t the Senator-Prince. I would think that the death of your mother had taught your family to distance themselves from the rebellion.” Stiles didn’t let himself betray the spike of emotion the mention of his mother brought, but just kept looking straight at the gleaming black mask of Darth Hale.

 

“What are you talking about? This is a diplomatic mission! Sure, our ship has suffered some damage, but that’s only because you’ve charmingly opened fire on us. Several times.” As he talked, the prince subtly tried to edge away from the stormtroopers at his back. They’d caught him on the bridge, just a few minutes after he’d jammed the plans in the astromech droid. Lucky for him, they hadn’t restrained him physically.

 

Even luckier, they hadn’t noticed the blaster holster. Who knew these stupid ceremonial robes would come in handy someday?

 

“Let’s cut to the chase, dear Prince. In exchange for the plans, we will allow the _Tantive IV_ to continue on its… diplomatic mission.” For the life of him, Stiles had no idea how a mechanized voice could sound so smooth, like the silk they wove from the nerfs on his home planet. “Otherwise, I fear you may suffer some, shall we say, setbacks?”

 

Stiles put his hands on his hips. “And I’m telling you, this is a peaceful, diplomatic mission, sanctioned by the Senate and everything! I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He felt his fingertips brush the tip of his blaster. “In fact, given the treatment we’ve received from your Imperial Destroyer, I might even lodge a complaint.”

 

Darth Hale let out a snort. It took every ounce of the Prince’s diplomatic training to stop his mouth from gaping open—Darth Hale just _snorted_?  “Oh, it’s no wonder the Rebellion’s finally won a battle, since you’ve cast your lot with them. Prince Stilinski, don’t you realize that your precious Rebellion is hopeless?” Hale stepped forward until he was looking directly down at Stiles, just a few inches away from his face. Stiles stared at his reflection in the gleaming armor, barely letting himself breathe.

 

“How many times do I have to say that this is a diplomatic mission before it finally gets through to you?” His voice came out high and reedy, fear coating every word. Still, Stiles didn’t let himself back down, or piss his pants. He mentally congratulated himself on the second one.

 

“The plans, prince,” Darth Hale said softly, the robotic breathing-apparatus giving his voice an eerie harshness. “The plans, and your allegiance to the Empire.” Delicately, he lifted a gloved hand and traced the edges of the prince’s jaw with his knuckles. “We could give you power, you know. Enough for you to affect that social change you constantly babble about.” Darth Hale let his hand drop. “Or we could kill you. Your choice.”

 

Stiles was having a really hard time breathing through the terror. Resolutely, he pushed his panic to the side and tried to still his shaking fingers. He almost had a grip on the blaster, he just needed to stall a little bit longer. He laughed a little tremulously. “Well, gosh. I hate to disappoint, but I’ve already got dinner plans. On my diplomatic mission.” The proximity to Darth Hale was making him a little light-headed, but if he only got the one shot…well, better to have a closer target, right?

 

“Yes, yes, I was afraid that you might be otherwise occupied. Fortunately, we have other methods of persuasion.” Suddenly, an invisible wall slammed into Stiles, knocking the breath out of him. The air around him became heavy and forceful, and for some reason, _it was utterly impossible to breathe._

 

Uselessly, Stiles clawed at the unseen restraint on his throat, legs kicking empty space as he was lifted into the air. Dark spots swam through his vision as he felt his blaster being delicately removed from his pocket.

“Tsk, clever. Useless, of course, but clever.” The pressure around Stiles’ throat suddenly cleared, and he reveled in taking big, gasping breaths. (He was never going to take breathing for granted again, vaping hell.)

 

Darth Hale studied the blaster for a moment before throwing it to the side. Stiles saw the thing crumple into a useless ball of metal before it even hit the ground, which was just his luck. Fruitlessly, he flailed in the air a bit before giving it up as a lost cause.

 

“Think you could let me down sometime? You’ve caught an innocent man, destroyed all forms of self-defense, and frankly I’m starting to feel a little ridiculous up here.” The words hadn’t even finished leaving his mouth before Stiles was unceremoniously dropped to the floor.

 

“I’m afraid you may have to cancel your dinner plans, Senator-Prince Stilinski.” Pausing from rubbing his side—which was definitely bruising, by the way—Stiles looked up to see Darth Hale looming over him. The unnaturally bright lights glinted off the black armor’s exterior and Stiles felt his throat go very, very dry. “I’m afraid we have things to discuss.”

 

Darth Hale twisted his hand in an odd circular motion and before Stiles could even question it, a sharp, lancing pain shot through the back of his head. In his last few seconds of consciousness, Stiles thought that all that diplomatic training really hadn’t prepared him enough for this.

 

~:~:~

 

“Derek, are you actually insane?” Erica crossed her arms angrily in the copilot’s seat. “I refuse to help you fly this ship. I will take no part in causing our deaths.”

 

Derek tightened his grip on the ship’s controls. “We’ve done worse.”

 

“Doing dumb shab because we’re already running for our lives is one thing. Hell, we never could have made the Kessel run in less than twelve parsecs if it weren’t for the Imperial ships breathing down our necks. But this? This is just stupid.” Derek looked away from the stars for a second to look over his copilot. Erica was fuming in her seat, her blonde hair looking frizzy and wild from where she’d been pulling on it. He didn’t blame her for being worried, if he was honest.

 

“I’m sorry, but at this point it’s our best choice.” He sighed. Sithspit, he hated putting his crew in danger. “Look, we’ve got bounty on our heads but this time it’s the Hutt whose put them there. We touch down on Tattoine, lay low, pick up a couple of jobs, and we should have enough credits to save our skins.”

 

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you dump the cargo. Do you know how much spice that was, captain?” Derek winced a little bit.

 

“Erica, you know—” His copilot rolled her eyes.

 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Lesser of two evils. That doesn’t mean I’m happy about it, Solo.” She unbuckled her safety restraints and stretched her arms out wide. “I think I might go check out how Boyd’s doing down by the cannons. I could use some sanity right about now.”

 

“Don’t play sabacc too long, I need you here for landing,” Derek called out as she left the cabin. Sighing, he swiped a hand over his forehead. They hadn’t had a close shave like that in a while, and he hadn’t exactly missed the feeling of terror that a tractor beam could cause. Not to mention the dread of who could be behind it.

 

He grimaced, before shaking himself back to reality. Resolutely, he tried not to think about how his sister would have cuffed him upside the head ( _stop moping, bantha-brains, you’re glooming up my whole ship_ ) and punched in the coordinates for Tattooine.

 

~:~:~

 

Meanwhile, a mop-headed moisture farmer stared up lazily at the sky, idly throwing pebbles across the sand.

 

“Scott! You better have finished harvesting from the left field!” Jumping up, Scott swore a bit before grabbing the controls for the newest droids they’d picked up the week before.

 

“I’m on it, Mom!” As he fiddled with the buttons, Scott couldn’t help but look up at the sky again.

 

“One of these days, I’m going to be out there, doing something big.” Suddenly Scott felt like an idiot, standing in an empty field talking to himself. He grinned a bit, and started walking to the collectors. Besides, he was happy here. Happy enough, at least. Not to mention, he wasn’t important enough to attract anybody’s attention.

 

~:~:~

 

“ _The boy. I want him brought to me alive, do you understand?_ ” The flickering hologram created an disconcerting glimmer over Darth Hale’s mask.

 

“Yes, master.”  Behind the armor, for the first time in a very long time, Hale’s lips quirked up in a smile.


End file.
